


The Piper Will Lead Us To Reason

by AGirloftheSouth



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Darillium, Episode Fix-It: s04e08 Silence in the Library, F/M, Gallifrey, Hurt/Comfort, Library Fix-It, Romance, Spoilers for Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirloftheSouth/pseuds/AGirloftheSouth
Summary: Life was back to normal, the evening almost perfect, until the Cloister Bells started to ring.  Gallifrey panics and the Doctor is no where to be found.





	1. A New Day Will Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> So here it goes, my extensive, complicated library fix-it. Wish me luck! 
> 
> Once again, unbetaed as of now. ScopesMonkey would happily do it, but she’d hate it, so I won’t force it upon her. Please excuse the errors I have missed.
> 
> I will try and post it two chapters at a time.
> 
> I’ve also taken liberties with the culture of Gallifrey and the history of the Doctor, including his family, borrowing some from non-canon sources. If that offends you, then you might want to stop here.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

And it's whispered that soon, If we all call the tune  
Then the piper will lead us to reason  
And a new day will dawn  
For those who stand long  
And the forests will echo with laughter – Led Zeppelin

 

 

Gallifrey

The sky was the perfect balance of blue and orange, as the citizens of the Capital went about their evening.

It was the first day of the week-long celebration of Omega.  Street vendors were out in droves, snacks and trinkets being purchased left and right. A mix of pleasant smells filling the air. Floating globe lanterns lit the streets alternating colors and pleasant sounds as people walked near them. Music was emerging from several venues, a mix of native sounds and those of many other cultures filling the air.

Children wearing the robes of all chapters, and those without, were running through the park, the collection of fete games winding down for the day. Parents calling multi-syllabled names and others reaching out with their minds as plans were made to return home. 

Older Academy students were just starting to emerge from their dormitories. An evening of revelry planned in celebration of finished testing and the prospect of a small break before their schooling resumed. Young off duty soldiers were starting to gather in the establishments that catered to them, animosity at the more elite forgotten for the night as they mingled with friends and comrades.

Life was restored. 

No longer were the edges of the universe creeping in on them.

No longer were Daleks raining down on them with death and destruction.

It was calm.

It was peaceful.

An evening like every other. 

Almost perfect, in fact.

Until the bells started to ring.

* * *

 

Pandemonium, he thought, actual bedlam had broken out.  Worst he’d ever seen.  And he’d seen a lot.

 “Lord President,” came the voice of a shouting soldier, skidding into the room and stopping next to them.

“Yes,” Rassilon hissed, his voice sharp, strained.  “No sign of him, sir. Him or his Tardis.  Because of her age we can usually…”

“Find him,” Rassilon snapped.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier answered, but Rassilon could feel the hesitancy. The Doctor was still a war hero. Still the savior of Gallifrey. Rassilon lowered his voice and forced calm.

“Ask him to join us,” he managed. “Explain that we are in need of his services.”

The soldier smiled, more at ease.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated and was gone.

Rassilon looked to the general standing on the other side of the table.

“It is confirmed, Lord President,” her voice was confident, sure. The female regeneration kept her emotions more hidden than her predecessor had, he knew she had to be near panic.  “It is all of the bells.”

Rassilon slapped the table, sparks shooting out of his glove, and turned to look at the monitors hanging above his head. He’d only returned to Gallifrey 20 years ago.  They’d just managed to move everyone out of the end of time.  He didn’t have the support of the council, neither the new or those who’d been exiled with him, not really. And he suspected the families would start demanding change again.  And soon.

And now the bloody bells wouldn’t stop ringing.

“What are we getting from the Matrix?”

“Nothing, sir, absolute silence.  We are struggling to even get basic information like temperature and weather patterns.” Rassilon glared at the general.  “It seems unaware that the bells are ringing.”

“What bloody use of the most intricate alarm system in the world if the stupid thing can’t even tell us what it’s alerting us to?”

The general didn’t reply, instead turning to the experts in the room all of whom looked dumbfounded. One of them actually shrugged.

The Lord President pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to keep his anger at bay.

“Do we know anything?” he asked after a long moment, not looking up as a buzz broke out around him.

“Sir,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Cardinals are demanding an update. They say the Families are threatening to call the whole Council, sir.”

Rassilon groaned. “Tell the Cardinals that as soon as we know anything, they will know.  Also, tell them that I wish them the best of luck recalling all of the Council during a holiday.” The man with the unfamiliar voice didn’t move, but Rassilon was done with him.

He turned back to the room, “I believe I was waiting on a reply, do we know _anything_?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with the Doctor,” one voice finally pierced through. Rassilon looked at the young man.  So young Rassilon wondered if he’d even regenerated yet, or finished the Academy.

“Why not?” he snapped when no further information was offered. 

Just as he was about to answer the bells stopped, as did everyone in the room. There was a long moment of absolute silence before the General’s communicator chirped to life.

“Sir,” said a panicked voice. “The sliders,” the general started to correct the soldier, but he kept talking. “They’re charging the doors sir,” there was a crashing noise and a far-off scream.  “They’re trying to escape.”

The link suddenly went dead and a look of panic spread across the general’s face. “Get reinforcement’s down there.  Secure the cloister, contain the wraiths.”

A group of suddenly terrified soldiers darted out the door, guns at the ready.

It didn’t make sense; the wraiths were a defensive system.  Kept themselves in and other people out.

“What…” Rassilon started.

And as suddenly as they’d stopped the bells started again. Rassilon held his hands out and stared at the ceiling, but it was different.

Everyone in the room seemed to notice at about the same time.

“Is that a song?” he asked, looking to the General.

“It,” she began, frowning, ‘would seem so. I don’t,” she paused, “I don’t recognize it.”

The buzzing increased as the experts in the room started to frantically type into their equipment.

“What the bloody hell is going on,” The Lord-President shouted at the room.  “The damn bells are serenading us? Is that even a possibility?”  He couldn’t get the image of the Doctor smugly eating his soup out of his head. It had to be the Doctor. Had to be some elaborate plan to usurp him, or worse.

The General’s communicator chirped again.  “Quiet,” she shouted at the room and it went instantly silent. “Go ahead,” she said into her wrist.

“One injured,” there was a pause, “but not seriously. And the wraith’s ma’am, have calmed.” Commotion in the background. “But they, I don’t know ma’am, they seem to have formed a perimeter around the edges of the lifts. If we try to enter they charge forward, but if we stay in the lift they just…. stand guard.”

“They are supposed to protect the Matrix, soldier,” the general replied.

“But they almost,” the voice paused, “It is if they are aware and watching us.”

“The room erupted,” and the General’s voice was lost in the cacophony as Rassilon rubbed his hand over his face.

Conscious sliders. Serenading bells.

This had to be the Doctor.  There was no other possibility

“Lord President,” Rassilon looked up at another too young Time Lord in the corner as he held up his small device, a mix of confusion and excitement on his face.

“The song, sir, seems it’s human in origin.”  Everyone was staring, waiting for more.

Humans.

The Doctor.

“And?” Rassilon finally said, knowing his annoyance was showing now.  Knowing he couldn’t keep it contained.

The door opened, several of the Cardinals entered the room. Rassilon didn’t bother to hide his groan. The young Time Lords eyes going wide at the realization of how large and how important his audience was.

“Earth, sir,” he said. “From what was their 20th century, but lasted well past that.  It seems it’s considered one of their finest works.”

Rassilon bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes. After a long second with the only noise the buzzing of quiet conversations around the room.

“And?” he said again. The man shrugged and looked confused.  “It’s called Stairway to Heaven.”

There was a moment of absolute stillness and calm, before the room erupted again. “Daleks.” “Cyberman” “Sontarans.”

“SHUT UP,” Rassilon said, his voice booming over the large room.  “There is no need for us to—”

There was a loud electrical pop, and everyone started to look around.  A second later the lights went out.

“Bloody hell,” the General’s voice carried over the room, and in the orange glow of night she was visible moving towards the window. Rassilon followed, just in time to see the wave of lights start to go out across the Capital.

All of them.

Everywhere.

All across Gallifrey.

Except in one loom shed that hadn’t been used in thousands of years, outside of one of the planet’s oldest houses at the base of the Southern Mountains.

 


	2. Can You Hear The Wind Blow

Darillium

The Doctor sat back in his chair, the remnants of dessert in front of him. River had moved back to the edge of the balcony, the steady wind increasing the volume of the Towers’ songs.  From his angle he could just make out her profile and her huge grin.

The sight settled on his hearts.  He’d have to say good-bye to her again, a part of him convinced he wouldn’t survive it. But then, she’d probably make sure that he would.  She wouldn’t leave until she was positive he’d get through it.

Monolith. Sunset.  

He didn’t deserve any of it.

And she deserved everything.

He took a deep breath, pushing his doubts away.

“The first time I met you,” he said.  She glanced at him, expecting more.  He just straightened the silverware on the table. The words still weren’t easy.

“The first time you met me what?” she finally asked, turning to face him, hip on the stone. She crossed her arms both curious and suspicious.

He stilled his hands and met her eyes.  Those magnificent green eyes.

“I fell in love with you.” Her eyes went wide, and he itched to look away.  Fidget with the napkin, or do anything to escape that shocked stare.

Monolith. Sunset.

She was ridiculous.

 “You were smug and irritating, sexy and smart. I had no idea who you were, but when you told me, convinced me of how important you were it was like flipping a switch.  I loved you, as terrifying as that was.  As horrifying as I found it, I fell in deeper and deeper every time I afterwards until I couldn’t imagine a universe without you in it. Until you were the best thing in my life.”

“How did I…?” She started, her voice catching.

“Spoilers,” he said, smirking at her. The thought of his name coming from those lips. It stirred things inside even now. The urge to look away shifting into the urge to touch, the desire to look at nothing else but her for 24 whole years. He thought of himself all that time ago, a stupid lost regeneration who had no idea just how amazing this woman was and who loved her just the same. It had hurt like hell to lose her then and he hadn’t known her, losing her now---would be it. The Doctor was done.

But hopefully just him and no one else.

He’d learned something from Clara’s death.  He couldn’t fix everything.

But he could love her. Give River 24 years to know how important she always was.  How loved she was.  How much he needed her. Give her everything he had before she left him forever. 

“Doctor, I--” her voice cracked, and she looked back towards the Towers. He pushed his chair back and was beside her in three strides. She turned, and he wrapped his arms around her, her face buried in his neck. Breath ragged as she fought off tears.

“Regenerated with a bloody wedding ring and all,” he continued.  “Didn’t know who I was or where I was, didn’t know the name of my companion or Jenny and Vastra but there was a ring on my finger that tied me to you. I was flirting with a damn dinosaur and kept thinking how angry you’d be.  Thought you’d send me back to the stupid otters.”

She let out a little laugh and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I haven’t seen you in 1000 years,” she gasped, pulling back at that.  “And when I saw you outside of that saucer my heart skipped back to life.  So, don’t you dare ever doubt how much you are loved. I’m a universally rubbish husband, but I adore you. I always have.”

She shook her head, eyes shining. “But you aren’t a lousy—”

“I am,” he interrupted, “or I was.  Bowtie was--,” he paused unable to belittle his previous self with her looking at up at him and knowing just how loved Bowtie was. “He was confused and frightened.  I’m not afraid anymore.  I don’t deny my mistakes anymore. I was horrible for you more often than not, but I loved you with everything that I was. I have 24 years to even that out a bit. No more running, I promise you that. Assuming you’ll have me for that long, of course.”

Her smile lit up her whole face.  “You try to get rid of me.”

“No more running,” he promised her.

“No more hiding,” she replied.

* * *

 

She moaned at the ceiling as his teeth sank into that perfect spot on her neck.  Her knees went wobbly and she planted her palms on the surface behind her.  He grinned against her as his fingers closed around her waist and together they positioned her on the console.

“Perfect,” he hummed as he pushed her skirt up her thighs, positioning himself between her legs. “But as beautiful as you look,” he whispered, lips pressing into her jaw. “These long dresses are so cumbersome to deal with in moments like this.”

She chuckled as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor. “You’ve always loved me in long dresses.”

“I do appreciate your lines,” he said, nails dragging up the outside of her thighs. Her hips hitched upwards as he slipped them along her waist.  “But, I think I like your legs more.”

“So, no more long dresses,” she frowned, starting on his tie.

“I didn’t say that,” he hummed, grabbing her lower back and sliding her forward. He let out a quiet growl as all the important bits come into contact with each other.  “I’m just saying, that accessibility is under rated.”

A laugh erupted out of her as she slipped his tie over his neck and held it between them. “I’ll remember that,” she chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his chin and pressing her thighs into his waist to keep him close.

He grinned at her, blue eyes wandering down to the dark cloth. Her dress rustled as one of his hands slipped free, grabbing one end. Silently they both started wrapping it around their hands, the material longer than usual. It was an old routine they’d repeated often when bowties were his regular attire.  It was different, she noted, his emotions looking different on this grumpy Scottish face. But when his fingers touched hers it was all exactly the same.

“Always and Completely,” he said. 

“Always and completely,” she repeated.

She used her free hand to weave through his grey curls and hold him still, sliding her lips sweetly over his. Her tongue darting out to taste and retreating before he could reciprocate.

“Minx,” he growled against her lips and she smirked pulling away. 

“No long dresses,” she said, smiling at him, both knowing his opinion on her fashion choices didn’t matter in the slightest. She’d wear anything or nothing as she pleased. “Anything else you don’t like this time around?

“Hand holding,” he said as he unwound himself from the tie and wove his fingers between hers in the process. “Touching in general,” he continued, leaning down to dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat.

She raised her eyebrow as he pulled back.

“I believe there is an exception to that,” he smirked. She pressed forward into him, the kiss deepening quickly as she clutched desperately at his bicep.

He tasted like his past and her home and she wanted to get lost in it.  He moaned as she pulled back, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip.

“Touching certainly makes what happens next much more enjoyable,” she whispered, her hand easing out of his and settling on his hip. Her thumb brushed enticing circles just below his belt, a nail scraping across the material of his trousers. 

“And what comes next,” he teased, using his teeth to pull gently on her earlobe.

“Take me to bed, husband,” she hummed.

“Brilliant idea,” he replied, meeting her lips again as he eased her of the keyboard.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate like he’d expected. It was soft, and tender.  She explored the new him and he flooded his mind remembering her. The touches, the tastes, the noises.  The way her back arched when he darted his tongue along her clit.  The way her fingers gripped at the sheets as he found the perfect angle inside of her.

She filled up some of the happiest moments of his life and as he collapsed on top of her he realized his memory was absolute shit.

Nothing was better than this. Nothing in the whole universe felt as good as her. Nothing ever would.

“Final verdict,” he gasped out as he settled beside her, still catching his breath.  Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glowing when she opened them to grin at him.

“Proper grown up,” she said, “And rather more suited,” she glanced down his body, an eye brow raising at his softening cock, “in certain areas.”

He laughed, pulling her close.  “I’ve never heard you complain before.”

“Nothing to complain about,” she said, before turning her attention to his chest and brushing her fingers through his few hairs there.  “But just because something is amazing, doesn’t mean it can’t get better.”

She kissed him lazily, their bodies fitting together like a puzzle as they relaxed deeper into the mattress. He vaguely wondered how he could be so different and how she still fit him perfectly.

Still bespoke, after all.

“And you didn’t blush once,” she added, settling her head on his chest and draping her arm across his body. “That’s a nice feature.”

"Glad you noticed," he replied, placing a kiss in her curls. He wouldn't sleep, but an evening spent watching her sounded perfect. 


	3. A Lady Who's Sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently my little brother is an actual wealth of useless knowledge about Doctor Who. And when it came up in conversation he unloaded on the group some actual facts about Time Lord life, I've borrowed them. Made up the rest. Thanks, Phuffer (even though he'll never actually read this).

A Lady Who’s Sure

Gallifrey

“What do you mean, everywhere?” Rassilon looked at the group standing in front of him.  Everyone looked strained in the odd mix of light created by the portable light sources.

“Everywhere,” a young woman said.  “All power has been turned off across the planet. All continents.  All cities. All houses.”

“We’re powered by a fucking black hole?” he shouted, the tech’s eyes going wide. The general cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Can’t we simply turn it back on then?” She asked.

“We’re working on it,” she said.  “We are having to work our way through all of the fail safes to determine where the problem is.”

“We had a billion Daleks firing on us from every point and we never completely lost power,” Rassilon snarled. “And now we have?”

“Yes, sir,” they all said in unison. 

“FIX. IT.” He stated, plainly enough and they scurried out of the room.

He turned on the general, finger jabbing at the darkened city.  “You mark my words, this is the work of your precious war hero.”

* * *

 

She brushed her long braid over her shoulder as she entered the loom shed.  The cycle was almost done, expedited, she expected, because there was only one.  She approached the machine, almost violet eyes studying the life being created on the other side of the clear glass door.  It wouldn’t be long now. She smiled. Perhaps she’d go to the Citadel herself and watch it play out. 

Or perhaps not, she didn’t like to leave home.  But it was a brilliant plan.

She sat the collection of clothing and family robes she’d collected on the small counter along with a small plate of food and a drink.

Loomlings were always hungry in the beginning. She remembered it vividly.

“Welcome,” she whispered, touching the glass with her long fingers before heading back out into the cool evening.

 

 


	4. Can You Hear the Wind Blow 2

 

Can You Hear the Wind Blow

Darillium

River took one last bite of her sausage link and dropped it onto her plate, pushing it across the gingham picnic blanket. Brunch picnics in front of the Tardis after a morning spent in bed were not a bad way to start their first "day" on their new home.

“Delicious,” she said scooting closer to her husband. She leaned against his side and felt his lips press into the top of head.  “Can I look forward to a full Scottish every morning? I’m not complaining, mind you, but we might need to find a gym.”

He chuckled, leaning his head back against the Tardis door. The blue box was blocking the worst of the cool breeze, but River had still bundled up in one of his hoodies and her favorite pair of worn jeans.

“Hardly,” he said, “although I can promise no more fish custard.”

“Thank all of the gods for that,” she said, placing a kiss on his jaw as she reached for his coffee mug.

He grumbled about making herself a cup, but she ignored him taking another sip of the dark bitter liquid before curling the warm mug against her chest.  She focused her eyes on the horizon, the mix of darkened sky and highlighted sunset colors.

“When will the sunlight finally disappear?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Six weeks or there about,” he answered, his fingers starting to pull gently on her curls. “Then 24 years of darkness.”

She nodded, turning her face to bury it into her husband’s chest. She didn’t understand how he could smell so different and still so much the same. So much like home and safety. Like adventures and subdued mornings in bed. She’d missed it.

She’d missed him. 

The wave of sentiment surprised her and made her throat ache and she sat the coffee mug aside and wrapped her arms round him pulling herself closer, tighter. He rested his cheek on curls.

The Towers sang as the wind howled around them. She could see the restaurant where’d they’d had dinner off to their right. The light’s aglow in the darkness that had already settled there, both beautiful and somber. It reminded her of --

“How long?” His voice was quiet, barely audible over a gust of wind.  She twisted her fingers in the soft material of his shirt closing her eyes against the rush of pain in her chest.  She knew exactly what he was asking.  Manhattan. Her mind had been dancing around it all morning.  How long since Manhattan?

She took a deep breath and then another.

“Almost six months,” she managed.  He let out a small pained noise and wrapped his long fingers around her neck, holding her against him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said after a long moment.  Tenderness in his words.

“It doesn’t—” _matter_ , she was going to say but his lips against her forehead stopped the words in her throat.

“They were your parents, River. Of course, it matters.” Another tender kiss.

It had been horrible afterwards. They’d fought, really fought for days.  She was writing a book she didn’t want to write and that he resented.  He was convinced that she wasn’t upset enough, angry that she wouldn’t agree to stay. The longing and pain in his voice when he’d talked about Amy had made her jealous and defensive.  River had felt both unwanted and suffocated.  When he’d dropped her off at home, the good-bye had been almost cold. Neither knowing how to help the other.  Months ago for her, so close it still stung.

But for him it was half a life time ago.  A regeneration ago. Ancient history.

What a complicated life they led.

“You were mourning, too,” she replied, squeezing him tighter.  “You loved my mother.”

He huffed, and his body stiffened next to her. “You’re my damn wife,” he mumbled and for a moment she was convinced he was going to fight with her again.  Instead, he let out a long sigh and forced his body to relax. She leaned back to see his free hand scrub across his face.   There was still a hint of annoyance, but when he met her eyes she watched it melt away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice sincere. It was all she needed to hear.  Her eyes started to sting.   She nodded and buried her face in chest. He wrapped both his arms around her and pulled her close. She took several shaking breaths trying to clear the lump in her throat.

 “I was just back there,” he said after several minutes.  “That diner in Nevada where you slapped the hell out of me.”

She laughed, despite herself and brought her hand up to wipe her cheeks. 

“Had to keep up appearances, honey.”

He smiled, brushing some curls off her face. 

“Appearances?  Is that why you married the cyborg?” He lifted one of those spirited eyebrows, but his eyes were soft.

“Diamond, sweetie. Just the diamond.”

“Bloody jewelry,” he growled, and she laughed as he tightened his arms and pulled her back into his side. She went willingly.

“You had to have a couple marriages in there I don’t know about yet?” she said, not looking up at him.

“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “I travelled with Clara for a while,” there was something in his voice that anyone else would have missed. “You’d have liked her,” another kiss was placed onto the top of her head.  “She was a good friend to both Bowtie and I, but she left,” River looked up to see a flash of pain before he pushed it aside. “Just before I went back to Nevada, but that’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, but he shook it away. 

“It was a long time ago.” He said, but she didn’t quite believe him, and she studied him for a long time.

“Has it really been a thousand years since you last saw me?”

“More,” he answered, “but,” he paused, “for most of it I was alone on Trenzalore.”

River’s head snapped back at that, the panic rising up her spine.

“Survived it,” he said, smiling at her.  “Regenerated.” She puffed out an exhale, not realizing her breath had caught.

“The _thing_ that happened?” She managed to ask.  He nodded, offering her a smile. There was a story there, too.  She’d get it in time.

“Was it painful?” she asked, reaching up to cup his jaw.  She traced her thumb along his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“Never had it happen because I’d grown so old. It was different.  I forgot a lot.”

“Like Jenny and Vastra, you said?”

“And Clara and how to work a Tardis.  Where I’d seen this face before.”

“Where?” she asked.

“Pompeii,” he answered, and she frowned. “Needed a reminder to make amends, it’s what I do now.”

“How’s that going?” she smirked. 

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I’ve wronged you as much as anyone,” his voice was light, his face serious. “Am I—”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she interrupted.  He frowned at her.

“I owe you everything,” he said.  She started shaking her head, pushing away from him.  He tightened his arms just a fraction and met her eyes.  “But why don’t we start over.” She stopped moving.  “If we’re going to do this, I mean really do this husband and wife thing,” he gestured between them. “Let’s do it properly.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s get a flat or a house. A garden if you want it.  A dog. Together. As partners and friends as—”

“Lovers,” she supplied, and where his previous self would have blushed, this one just nodded.

“How is that starting over?” she asked, although the idea of it warmed something deep down in her stomach.

“No more of that ridiculous monolith and sunset rubbish. No more woman who killed me, saved me—”

“Married you?”

“We’ll keep that one,” he smiled, placing a kiss on the bridge of her nose, “but that’s it.  A husband and a wife.”

“And his time machine?”

“Our time machine,” he corrected.

She smiled so big it hurt her cheeks. 

* * *

 

The lot was small, but perfect.  River reached for his hand and when he looked at her she nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” she replied. He studied her for a moment before nodding.

The estate agent looked between them.  “Obviously the house isn’t very large, and it needs a lot of work,” he said, “but the view is spectacular.”

A short walk from the high street.  The Towers were visible from the back, for the first time since they’d arrived she noticed a difference in the sunlight.  It was fading. Just a tiny crown visible above the horizon.  

“It’s far enough away where the Towers won’t be audible all of the time.”  River frowned, the estate agent shrugged. There was a definite quiet hum in the air.  “They sing regardless of time and whether or not you are trying to sleep.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, looking toward her husband. A continuous naturally happy tune would probably irritate is grumpy sensibilities.

“Regardless,” the Doctor said, “it’s the place my wife wants, so it’s the place she’ll have.”  He grinned at her, “she’s paying for it anyway.”

River laughed

 

 


	5. A Lady We All Know

A Lady We All Know

The door slid open and the loomling opened her eyes and shut them right away.  The room was too bright. Too loud. The buzz of the machine filling the small space.

Overwhelming.

The floor was cold as she stepped out, blinking rapidly as a hand reached out to guide her. She managed to squint spotting the robes and the food.

Unexpected, but not unwelcome.

The clothes, made of the finest Gallifreyan materials felt like straw, rough and hard. The sound as she moved in them unpleasant on the new ears.  But the food was delightful. Satisfying a hunger she didn’t recognize.  The drink, some juice she suspected, soothed a dry aching throat, taste buds exploding with each new discovery. 

It wasn’t nearly enough.

She pushed the door opened onto the orange Gallifrey night.  So different than all those years in the Darillium darkness, and still she remembered it, foreign and comforting.

The first outside steps were tentative. The ground soft the air cool, too fragrant with the scent of the nearby forest.  Flora and fauna going about their lives, unaware of any change. She remembered vividly the first time she saw those trees.

The way he’d watched her see those trees.

The house was a short distance away and she was pleased to see the lights were still out.  

They hadn’t overcome that particular trap yet.

“Good,” she said into the quiet night. Voice sounding new, strange.

But it was the same. She was exactly the same.

More steps, in the direction of the house. She needed access to the database, the mental link broken with creation of a body. Her mind was quiet, she realized stepping onto a concrete path.

A long-forgotten feeling of being alone. She reached for the front doors. New fingers detecting every imperfection in the cool smooth wood. There was a creak as they eased open for her.

There was only darkness, but she could fix that, before she destroyed the rest of it.  The rest of them.

River Song smiled as she made her way into House Lungbarrow.


	6. Our Thoughts Are Misgivings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my story, Nothing Gets Finished, in it's original form. I like it much better as the separate story, but felt this story was lacking without it. So here it is again.

Our Thoughts Are Misgivings

They were at a party, some celestial-sun-dipping-below-the-horizon thing that apparently happened at the start of every ‘night’ on Darillium. River loved a party as much as anyone, more so than most truthfully, but the sun had been dipping below the horizon for almost the whole month they’d been here. She understood that with a planetary rotation that lasted 48 years nothing was going to happen quickly, but maybe wait until the sun was actually gone. 

But it had been a chance to dress up, drink too much, and flirt with her tuxedoed husband until he’d given in to her charms and fucked her mercilessly in a cleaning closet. He gruffed and grumbled as he’d pulled a towel off the shelf cleaning himself up rather roughly, before a tenderness that didn’t match his words or his face took over and he gently used the towel on her. 

“You’re a menace,” he said, as he put the towel back on the shelf. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to pilfer their towel,” he replied, tucking himself back into his trousers. 

“Trust me, sweetie,” she said grabbing the offending towel and slipping it into her purse.  “They’d rather we take it.”

He mumbled under his breath as he reached out to straighten her cocktail length dress. She knew he did it simply so he could be touching her, her dress was fine, but she didn’t stop him. His hands were warm, and even though his face showed annoyance, she knew better.  His eyes were tender, the corners of his lips turning up just a fraction.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked.  “We could dance again.”

She moved into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing their bodies together.  “I’d like that,” she smiled, “or we could head home and snuggle up on the sofa in front of a fire.”

A grin spread across his face.

“How very domestic of you.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

They separated, River opening the closet and striding out without any thought to who might see. She didn’t care who knew she was shagging her husband.  Hell, she hoped they all noticed.  He was popular among the Darillium natives. Her husband the charmer.

He followed behind a little more hesitantly, reaching for her hand when he caught up.  Their fingers wove together as they quickly said their good-byes.

The wind was cooler than it had been earlier, she glanced in the direction of the sunset.  It was almost over.  The darkness almost upon them.  Maybe there’d be another party then.

Her husband’s tuxedo jacket slipping over her shoulders brought her attention back to him.

“Thank you, honey,” she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves. She tightened it around her, pulling it up quickly to her nose. She breathed him in, and he chuckled beside her. “Hush,” she said.  “It’s hardly my fault you smell so good after sex.”

He just grinned, shaking his head as he draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

It was a short walk to their small house.  It still smelled new, like paint and furniture.  With the warm scent of vanilla lingering from the mix of candles she’d spread around the house.

“Here,” he said, making quick work of the floppy tie before handing it to her.  “Take care of that for me and I’ll get the fire started,” he said.  “You go get out of that dress.”  She raised an eyebrow, watching as he unbuttoned his top two buttons.  He just grinned before heading in the direction of the den.

She hung his coat in the closet next to her dress before grabbing a pair of his boxers and the dark hoodie he’d worn that morning.  It was hardly the sexy lingerie his last body had preferred, but this doctor wasn’t the lingerie type.  

She padded bare foot down the hallway, tying her hair up high on her head as she went.  Typically, they’d curl up and read together, but a few days ago she’d discovered a collected works of Gallifreyan poetry on the Tardis and insisted he read to her.  She was perfectly comfortable with the language, both written and spoken, but there was something about hearing it on the tongue of a native speaker, her native speaker in particular, that made her insides go wobbly.

The Scottish faded when he spoke Gallifreyan. His gravelly voice forming easily along the long-syllabled words as they conveyed deep devotion and love.  Listening to him read of a millennia long love affair made her understand why the small human-y words had never been enough for him to convey his feelings. 

They paled in comparison, even if she was stupidly happy she heard them regularly now.

“How about,” she started as she entered the den, “you read…” she trailed off.  Instead of a Time Lord poking a fire, she walked into one sound asleep on the couch.  The fire was started, barely, but it appeared he’d sat to pour their drinks and never quite made it back up. She smiled, grabbing the poker and stirring the flames to life.

“Silly man,” she said, taking a long sip from her glass before putting everything away. She grabbed the afghan off the back of the chair before easing between him and the back of the couch.  She put her head on his shoulder and he shifted in sleep to accommodate her.  She wasn’t particularly tired, but watching her husband sleep was a very rare treat indeed.

“Finally wore you out,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his neck.

He turned his face towards her, his quiet exhalations brushing her curls. She smirked, popping open the next few buttons on his shirt and slipping her hand in to rest over his hearts.

He was softer now, older, and perfect. He was always perfect, she thought, lightly scratching her nails against his skin. He grumbled, and she stilled, tucking her head underneath his chin and closing her eyes.

She let her mind drift, images of her husband both remembered and created from stories swirling through her mind, including a story of the Doctor as a woman.  River could picture it perfectly, warm brown eyes, blond hair.

_Hello, Sweetie_ , she said to the vague image of a female doctor as the ground around them suddenly shifted, both of them losing their balance.

“No,” she heard, snapping her eyes open to realize she’d been dreaming.  Her husband was beneath her, twitching rather violently in his sleep.

“Sweetie,” she said, moving to cover him with her body as she pulled her hand out of his shirt, noting vaguely that he was sweating.  She had a moment of genuine surprise.  Nightmares had always been her issue not his. “Wake up,” she whispered just as her fingers touched his cheek.

“Clara, no…”His eyes snapped open so quickly she gasped and it turned into a yelp as he grabbed her arms and threw her on to the floor.

She cried out as her tailbone hit the ground and her elbow the coffee table, there was a crashing noise as she knocked something to the floor. She laid back and closed her eyes against the shooting pain up her back, while pulling her arm to her chest. She took a deep breath and held it, the pain easing as she heard her husband frantically moving next to her.

She took another steadying breath and did a quick inventory. It hurt, but nothing was broken.

“God, honey,” she started, ready to make a snide comment about his defenses and her being out of practice, but stopped cold when she opened her eyes. He was on the far side of the couch, looking horror struck.

“River,” he gasped, looking her up and down with zero hint of anything warm or comforting, only panic. A panic she’d never seen before. “I-- Are you—”

She sat straighter, reaching for his knee, the part of him closest to her when he broke off, appearing instantly ashen. He stood and a second later was dashing out of the room.

She stared after him, momentarily shocked.

“What the hell?” she shouted to no one, swallowing a grunt of pain as she pulled herself to her feet.  Definitely going to be some bruises.

“Doctor?” she called, following him towards their bedroom.

She heard his retching before she even got through the doorway.  She grabbed a flannel from the closet and followed the sound, getting it damp before sinking to her knees, hiding the grimace of discomfort, beside him. She grabbed the hand closest to her and wrapped his fingers around the cool cloth before starting to sweep her hand up and down his back. 

“Are you okay?” he managed when his stomach calmed, wiping his face with the rag but never turning to look at her.  She settled her hand on his neck and started to massage.

“Couple of bruises,” he turned his head to glare at her, horrified with himself. She smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on his temple, the smell making her own stomach flop. “Fine,” she added, pulling back as he turned his attention back to the toilet. 

“What about you?” she asked, shifting to lean against the counter.

“I’m rubbish,” he snarled. “Just tossed my wife about like a ragdoll, right up against furniture.  Soon as I’m done here,  I think I’ll take the Tardis out, have her drop me in the vacuum of space and wait until my eyes--

“You can survive in the vacuum of space,” she said quietly.

“Not for long,” he hissed as he wiped his mouth again, clearly not sure if he was done being sick.  He grumbled at her and let his head drop down between his arms. 

“They’re hardly the first bruises you’ve given—”

“Different,” he snapped, not looking up. She frowned.

“Yes,” she conceded, “Different, but I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything and for a long few minutes they sat on the floor, her eyes never leaving him, until he wiped his face one last time and stood up.  He tossed the flannel into the bin and stepped over River to get to the sink.  She stared at the wall, listening, as he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth.  She sat quiet as he placed his palms on the counter and let his head drop again. She knew he wanted, needed even, time and space, she was only willing to wait, not leave.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and she looked at him. He stood to his full height and met her gaze.

“Don’t be,” she said. His face twisted with disgust, he glanced at the mirror, swiping his hand across his jaw, before offering it to her. She took it and let him pull her up.  She didn’t hide the pain this time letting him steady her.

“Is it broken,” he asked, letting his hand slip to her lower back. She could almost feel his regeneration energy buzzing through his fingers. Ready to heal her.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, meeting his eyes.  “Just bruises.”

He nodded, pulling away and looking towards the floor.

She grabbed his hand, weaving her fingers through his and didn’t let him go far. Instead, taking a step back towards their bedroom, pulling him along.  She sat on the edge of their large bed, and he sat next to her. He pulled his hand from hers and placed his elbows on his knees.  He was taking such ragged breaths that she thought he might get sick again. 

“I thought I had a monopoly on nightmares in this marriage,” she said after several minutes, her voice soft.  When he didn’t respond she curled one leg beneath her and reached over to scratch her nails along the base of his skull.  It was a gesture that would generally make his eyes drop closed and his body relax almost instantly.  It was less effective in this particular moment, but his breath did catch and she smiled as it evened out. 

“Talk to me,” she whispered. 

He shook his head, covering his face with his hands.

She thought about making a joke. A jab at the fact that he’d called another woman’s name out in sleep. Usually, he’d growl at her, bring up Ramone or Cleo or Stephen Fry, but she didn’t.  She took her lesson from him, and what he’d done for her at university and countless times after when the horrors of her childhood caught up to her. He’d just sat with her, listened when she’d talked and was close when she didn’t’.

He’d taught her how to do this.

She had no idea how much time had passed when he finally mumbled the name “Clara,” again.

He sat up, dislodging  River’s gentle touches and met her gaze.  His eyes were red. “I lied to you, River.” He said.  “About Clara.”

Her stomach sank.  She’d deny it if he ever asked, but she mentally began to prepare for what he was about to say, that it had been more. That she was like Rose and he’d loved her.  Missed her.  Wanted more.  He’d recounted a lot of his adventures with Clara over the last few weeks. River thought it all sounded innocent enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped angrily and turned his attention back to the floor, she apparently failed to hide her jealousy. She would have snapped back if he hadn’t reached for her hand, pulling it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles before holding it in both of his.

“I don’t,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I don’t actually remember her.”

“What?” River asked, confused.

He sat straight again, but kept his attention focused on their hands resting in his lap.

“I’ve pieced it together, most of it anyway from the hole where she should be. But I don’t remember her.  I don’t know what she looked like, or sounded like. I don’t remember anything she said or did specifically.  Just that she was there and important to me and she’s gone now.”

River was quiet, watching him as he played with her fingers, tracing his thumb on the underside of her wrist. 

“How?” she finally asked.

 “Neural block,” he answered, “I was trying to—” he paused, looking away again. “I was going to make her forget me. I hoped it would save her, but it was too much.  I went too far.”

River shook her head, confused and was just about to ask, when he answered.

“The hybrid,” he started.

“Oh,” she said.  “I thought…” her voice trailing off.

“They killed her,” he said, digging his thumbs into her palm.  

“Clara?”

He nodded and River was still confused. 

“He killed her?” she asked.

He shook his head and didn’t say anything. She sighed trying not to get annoyed.

“Start at the beginning,” she whispered into his ear before placing a kiss just below it.

“Gallifrey,” he said, taking a deep breath before he met her eyes.  “I didn’t destroy it.”


	7. Look to the West

A scan of her eye brought up the computer and with a series of codes she lit up the house.  Pain shot through her head as she shut her eyes against the lights.

“You don’t want to push yourself,” came a whispered voice. So quiet and so loud.

River forced her eyes open just in time to see the red-headed woman wave her hand and dim the lights.

“The first few hours are needed for adjusting. Obviously, you’ve transferred your consciousness, so you won’t have to learn any of the fundamentals, but it will still take time.”

“I don’t have time,” River replied, watching as the other woman moved across the room, glancing at the screen River had brought up on the computer.  She was tempted to hide it.

“Would you care for tea?  There is a Scendeles blend that was supposed to help loomlings adjust, back when it was prevalent.”

River glared at the woman, realizing suddenly that she was actually speaking in English.  There was no translation program changing it all for her. There was as small upturn on the tiny lips.

“The house is equipped with teleportation, you can travel to the Capitol instantly.  I also have a Tardis , but I’m sure you realize there might be complications with that.  However, you should ensure that you are your strongest.”

“I control the Matrix,” River snapped.

“And you’ve returned as flesh and blood, you are vulnerable.”

“I was raised to kill Time Lords.”

“You were raised to kill the Doctor, who, if the rumors are true died to save you. Rassilon won’t be as accommodating.”

River frowned.

“You do intend to kill the Lord President?”

A long silence fell between them before the woman looked away with a smirk.

“Rest assured, cousin, neither I nor the citizens of Gallifrey will condemn you, but I imagine Theta still has tender sensibilities.  He wouldn’t want you to avenge his punishment.”

“His torture!” A flash of anger surged through River and she again reached for a gun that wasn’t there. Old habit. The woman in front of her continued to smile.

“I’ll have the tea brought up. When you are ready please let me know and I will show you to the teleporters.”

“I control the computers,” River said again.

“Yes, but you don’t control the house.”


	8. Smoke through the Trees

The burnt orange of the night sky warmed something in his chest and he gave one long look to the barren landscape in front of him before looking back at River.   She still had a hand on the door of the Tardis, hesitant as she took her first tentative step onto Gallifrey.  Her eyes darted to the ground as her boot sank into the sand and he smiled, holding out a hand to her. She grabbed it, fingers grasping tightly as she emerged fully from their blue box. 

He watched as her head moved back and forth, mouth slightly agape as she took in everything.  He pulled gently on her hand and she pressed into his side just as she caught sight of the Citadel in the distance. 

“Sweetie,” she gasped, as the dome shone in the moonlight.  The lights of the city brighter than he ever remembered them. 

“Is it what you expected?” he whispered in her ear.   She managed a nod, and he could almost feel some of the tension leave her.

Sharing all of his secrets had eased some of his burden.  He felt lighter and happier, but River had taken up his charge.  It had made her as angry as he’d ever seen her.  As angry as she’d been at university when she was still battling through her own demons. He’d feared it then, it hurt him now.   He was the source of all her pain. And he’d never met anyone who deserved pain less.

“It really is orange,” she whispered, and he nodded, planting a kiss on her temple.  

“Always,” he replied, pulling gently on her hand again as he took a step towards the barn. She was still for a moment, eyes focused on the city before she snapped her head around and looked at the barn.  A sudden mix of interest and sadness on her face. 

He couldn’t wait to take her south.   To show her the sunrise and the red grass fields where he’d played. Where he’d gotten married.  Raised his children. To share the oldest and most sacred parts of himself with someone for the first time since he’d left this giant rock. But he’d wanted her to see this first. A place he loved and hated and that was so engrained in who he was.   And as she pulled away from him and gently placed her fingers on the wood door he knew he’d made the right choice.

He walked behind her as she pushed inside. Her boots crunching on the straw as she spun in a slow circle taking it all in. 

“This is where…” she trailed off.

“I destroyed everything,” he said. “And saved it,” he shrugged. She noticed the loft and stilled, a frown crossing her face. 

“You came here when you were young, right?” She asked turning to face him.  “You told me once,” he didn’t remember telling her anything about this place before last week, but bowtie had had loose lips when drunk. “You told me once that you slept in a barn when the kids at school were mean.”

_Stupid big chinned bowtie,_ he thought.

He nodded, thinking of that frightened and embarrassed little Time Lord.

“You came here for years,” she added, not really talking to him anymore.  Her eyes shining even in the darkness of the barn.

 “Don’t feel sorry for him,” he snapped, and it surprised her. But that child did not want her sadness or her pity.  Didn’t deserve it.  “He was a stupid boy, afraid of his own shadow.  He was high born and Prydonian to boot. He hardly had a difficult life.”

He hadn’t been kidnapped.  Hadn’t been controlled and trained to be an assassin. Hadn’t regenerated before his 10th birthday on the streets in a foreign city all alone.

She was staring at him, her gaze penetrating as he noticed a beam of moonlight shining on her hair.

“You,” she whispered after a moment.  He frowned, confused. 

“You were a stupid boy afraid of your own shadow.  You ARE high born and Prydonian, even if you were stricken.  You! You were sad and scared and hid here,” she pointed up at the bed in the loft.  “A child of one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe. A child of gods and you slept in a barn. And I’ll feel sorry for anyone I damn well choose to,” she ended with a sharp snap of her voice.  A clear indication that she’d fight him if necessary. A fight he’d normally relish but didn’t want now.

He held up a pacifying hand and she took a deep breath.

“Stupid bastard,” she muttered as she turned back towards the loft. On that point he agreed whole-heartedly.

They were quiet for several minutes while she walked around and touched everything. The archaeologist in her, he thought.  She’d always shown a pension for the tactile aspects of her chosen career.  And he’d always enjoyed watching her.

“Did you bring people here?” she asked, glancing quickly at him over her shoulder before grabbing on to the ladder and climbing.

“Clara came when we stopped…”

“No,” she interrupted, kneeling in the loft so she could still see him.  “Back then, in school.  Did you bring Koschei here?  Your little Time Lady girlfriends?”

He smirked, catching on to her line of thought. 

“No,” he answered truthfully.  “I only had one Time Lady girlfriend and that was long after.” He started towards the ladder.  “I married her, and it never occurred to me to bring her here.” He started to climb, keeping his eyes on River’s as she frowned, a hint of jealousy over a long dead woman who’d known him in the only time of his life where River couldn’t go. The only part of him that could never belong to her. 

She straightened making room for him on the landing as he stood in front of her.  

“She was proper,” he said, it was the most he’d though of her in centuries and it ached in his chest.  “Proper and proud,” he continued, forcing the ache from settling in his throat.  “And would never understand why anyone, especially her husband, from a ‘better’ house and with a ‘better’ name, could sometimes be miserable.  She never understood—" He stopped when River started to shake her head.  

She looked down and he moved closer cupping her cheeks and tilting her face up until she met his eyes again.  The jealousy now mixed with other emotions.  His bespoke, so complicated. 

“You love her,” she said.  “You talk as if—you love her too much for her to have not—” she waved her hand in a vague gesture.  He smiled at her awkwardness with the topic, River so rarely hesitated with her words, and brushed his thumbs over her smooth cheekbones.

“Loved,” he corrected.   “I loved her very, very much.  More than I knew was possible.  She made me happy just by being with me, choosing me.  I spent centuries, some of them after she was gone, trying to be worthy of being her husband. Trying to be who she thought I was.”

“And then?” River asked, and he knew she was making comparisons in her head. Trying to determine if he was implying that she was a lesser wife because he wasn’t working so hard.  It’s exactly where he wanted her mind to go.   He loved to woo River, even now.  Even when the memories hurt.

“And then,” he rubbed her cheekbones again, “after a series of starts and stops, I met you. My bespoke psychopath.”  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger for a long moment.

“And you were insane and loved me before I even knew who you were. You saw the raw, angry, bitter, horribly broken man underneath the trench coat and then the bowtie and loved anyway.” She nodded, eyes getting watery again.  “I could never even try to be better than I am because you’d see right through it, you stick around despite the fact that I don’t deserve--”

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known,” she interrupted, wrapping her arms around his waist.  

He smiled, knowing she meant that, and let his hands slip away from her face to wrap around her and pull her close. She smelled perfect as he buried his face in her soft curls and took a deep breath.

“So, no,” he whispered near her ear. “I never brought her here because I never wanted her to have any doubts about me.  I’ve never brought anyone here.” He paused, “Although,” River stiffened slightly, “I had some particularly good wanks on that bed.”

She laughed, burying her face in his chest as he chuckled. She slapped his ass hard, before pulling back a fake glower on her face.

“Idiot,” she said.

“Always have been.”

“Two thousand years and you finally brought a girl about.” The voice made them both jump and they turned to see Her standing by the door.

“She’s my wife,” the Doctor said, smiling at his old friend.  She put her hands on her hips and looked River up and down.  He could feel his wife stiffen, curious and but wary.

“Too good for you, this one,” she said addressing the Doctor, smile curling her lips. “Smart and pretty.  More than you deserve.”

“I know it,” he replied, turning to smile at River.

“I’m just glad you didn’t set the bells a going this time. Annoying bloody things, think we’d come up with something more practical.”  She sighed and turned to move back out of the door. “And don’t you be worrying.  School holidays, no boys to interrupt you.  I’ll just throw the little lock and leave you two alone. Lord President” She laughed, closing the door behind her.  He smiled, watching her go.

“Who is that?” River grinned at the closed door, drawing his attention back to her.

“This is her place,” he said. “She takes care of it, and the kids like me who hide here.”

River continued to smile as her eyes locked with his again.  “I love her.”

He huffed and pulled her closer.

River turned back to him, sultry smile curling her lips. 

He placed a kiss on her nose, before easing out of her grip and sinking to his knees in front of her.  He placed his hands on her hips and looked up her perfect body. 

“I think we should reenact some of those i _deas_ that I had back then.”

She huffed, as her fingers started to move through his hair.  The delightful flush coloring her cheeks, belaying her words. “Time Lords frown upon the carnal, those fantasies were probably tame.”

“True,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss her pelvis through the cotton of her jodhpurs.  “But I think we’ve established, I was hardly a typical Time Lord.”

He reached his fingers into the waist of bad and started to pull them down.  Smiling when he saw she had nothing on underneath.  

“That’s my bad girl,” he hummed reaching for her boots.

“Always,” she replied, running her thumb across his ear as her green eyes pierced his soul. 

* * *

 

There was a slight breeze, a quiet rustle of trees. She looked towards the sound, turning to see behind the Tardis when she stopped dead. A lone peak darkening the horizon.

“Is that Mount Cadon?” she managed, the words sounding far away.

“Lung,” he answered, voice very near her ear.  She gasped, turning to look at him, her nose bumping his. It was only then that she felt the heat of his body against hers, a satiate smile still on his face.

“Why—?” her voice caught.  She never expected him to bring her here. He didn’t answer, instead looking towards the sky.

 “The suns will be rising soon,” he said, another kiss to her temple.  She nodded as he pulled gently on her hand. She followed as he moved them away from the Tardis, towards the mountain.  There was a noticeable incline and when they reached the edge of the darkened forest they stopped. She crouched picking up a fallen leaf.

“It’s really silver,” she mumbled, spinning it in her fingers. The doctor chuckled, and she looked up to see him leaning against a tree, smile warm.  She held the leaf up and he took it, examining it for a moment before turning his attention back to her.  He studied her, his smile growing before he held up the leaf and pointed towards where they’d parked the Tardis.

She stood, turned, and her heart stopped.

The forest was aflame.

Each tree glistening silver for a few seconds before the light hit them and they lit up the sky. Red and orange overtaking everything in sight. She followed the light as it moved across the forest, until everything in front of her glowed.  A sea of floating lava sparkling in the sky.

She gasped, sucking in another breath as she noticed turrets in the distance standing just above the tree line.  She turned to the Doctor, surprised his attention was on her.

“I’ve seen it,” he said, reaching his hand up to wipe her damp cheeks. She smiled, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles.  

“It’s amazing,” she said, turning her attention back towards the trees. She felt his warmth as he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  She leaned back into him as her heart and breathing evened out.  

“Is that Lungbarrow?” she managed after a few minutes, pointing at the turrets, the house becoming clearly visible as the red and oranges faded slowly back to silver.  It was farther away that she’d first thought.

“It is,” he said. And she had a very clear image of her husband as a small boy running through these trees.  Knocking too tall grass out of his way.  

It was all bigger than she imagined.  It could easily support a small village of people, and she knew at one point they were down to very few members.  She didn’t know how many survived now and doubted her husband did either.  But it didn’t look abandoned, appearing almost new in the morning light. 

“Will they let us in?” she asked, half joking.  He grumbled letting her go and moving to start walking back towards the Tardis.

“I’m not sure we should spend our first trip home by you killing my relatives,” he said. “Even if—" She frowned at him and he stopped.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t know who’s left.  I was here quite a bit during the war, but those were hardly normal circumstances.  And it wasn’t pleasant.  Messages of loss and death and we didn’t lose as many as most.” He sighed, glancing at it in the distance, his voice carrying on the warm breeze. “They’d probably let us in, but I don’t think they’d be happy to see us.” 

He stared for another moment before turning back to her.  “And you’d hate them, well,” he corrected.  “most of them.” He sighed.  “But I wanted you to see the sunrise here,” he said, his voice fond. “I wanted to see you as you saw the sunrise here.  It’s like nothing else in the universe.

She nodded accepting that, the memory having seared itself onto her brain.  She let her eyes travel over the now silver forest and smiled. She may hate every breathing thing on this planet, but Gallifrey’s beauty wouldn’t disappoint.  

“To Arcadia?” he asked holding out his hand.   She studied the view one more time before taking it and letting him lead her back down.

They both stopped when the Tardis came back into view.  There was a basket sitting in front of the door.  The weaving a mix of burgundy and gold.   As they approached it River recognized the Lungbarrow crest interwoven with the Prydonian one. She frowned as her husband let go of her hand and kneeled.

“Careful,” she hissed, but he just looked up over his shoulder and smiled at her.

“They’d hardly stamp it with the family name if it was dangerous,” he said before turning back and River’s fingers hovered just over the holster should have been.

Nothing happened.  She exhaled and watched as he reached in and pulled out a piece of paper. She took a step closer to study the pattern of intricate circles when he held it up to her.

The paper was thick and felt more like a heavy cloth.

‘I hope you enjoy.’

And there was something written at the bottom, a word she didn’t recognize. A name she assumed.

River glanced up, the feeling that they were being watched suddenly so strong.  She reached to her thigh where her gun wasn’t before spotting the woman standing amongst the trees. 

“Doctor,” she said, touching his shoulder.   He looked up, standing suddenly.

The woman’s dark red hair was almost the same color as her burgundy dress and it shone in the bright morning sun.

Her husband moved to step over the basket and the woman turned.

“Innocet,” he called, but she disappeared into the woods. River recognized then name. His cousin. He’d been close to her when younger.  She remembered something about him not saying good-bye and making peace much later.

She studied his back, his shoulders slumping for a second before he turned back to her. He looked towards the basket, frowning for a moment.  He picked it up and positioned it on his hip, opening the Tardis door. 

He plastered a smile on his face, but when he met her eyes he let it fall.  She saw the pain.

“Arcadia?” he asked again, and she nodded. Feeling another swell of rage towards this place and these people.

 

 

 

 


	9. Wind on Down the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies on the delay between updates. I'm currently on a schedule of working overnights so all I do is work and sleep. It's over soon and this bad boy will be finished.

Wind on Down the Road

She’d reluctantly admit the tea had helped.  River had been no less accommodating to her ‘cousin’-in-law when she’d brought the tea or led her to the teleporters, but she felt better.  The ache in her head had calmed to a dull pressure, which could easily be blamed on the bells restarting their song in the distance.  She smirked, looking over her shoulder at the Citadel, now alight in the distance. There was a passing moment of regret that she hadn’t silenced the bells too, let Rassilon think he’d gained control again.

But it didn’t matter. He’d be dead soon.

River pushed into the barn, the door creaking as she stepped inside. The smell of it slammed into her almost making her stumble. The straw, the evening air, the memory of them here. It was so long ago and yet so clear in her memory.

It would all be over soon enough, one way or another.

She climbed the ladder easing behind the bed to where she’d hidden her supplies, a couple of hours ago.  A couple of hours almost 200 hundred years ago.  She remembered working it all out in quiet alone moments over the course of 24 years.  Being terrified and certain.

She unzipped the bag and reached inside, fingers closing around soft cotton.  She pulled the t-shirt out, he’d slept in it the night she’d brought all this here.  She’d grabbed it off the bed when he’d gotten into the shower.  Her last piece to pack before stealing the Tardis and bringing it right back.  He hadn’t noticed.  Wasn’t even done washing his hair before she entered the house.

She held it up to her nose, the scent of him filling her up, making her eyes sting and her throat ache.  Her memory had been dulled by the time in the library, the rush of images making her head spin.

She never knew she could miss anyone so much. Never knew anything could hurt so much.

She couldn’t wait to see him again.

* * *

 

“Lord President, I believe we’ve found the Doctor, but—”

“Bring him here,” Rassilon snapped, moving towards the screen to see what the young man was looking at.   Separated from his Tardis.  Reports of damage.    

“It seems,” the young man started before the doors being thrown open drew everone’s attention.  Rassilon groaned at the group of Council members making their way toward him.  He didn’t have time for this.

“Rassilon,” the Representative from House Dvora stepped forward, frowning as her eyes looked around the room.  “We need to speak in your private residence,” she finally spit out turning her dark amber eyes on him.   “We’ve had a vote.”


	10. A Songbird who Sings

A Songbird Who Sings.

 

River knew they shouldn’t have come here. New York wasn’t allowed this early on, not really. They both knew it. Her parents were still here, older than she’d ever known them, but still alive. Her younger brother in tow, almost an adult now himself.  Maybe in this very park, this very crowd.  She doubted she’d recognize him.  Knew her husband wouldn’t.  And she was almost certain that time wouldn’t allow the interaction even as strangers.

She was surprised by how much it didn’t bother her.  She missed Amy and Rory, but the sharp pains that had lingered after the Angels had faded since she’d been reunited with her husband.  The curiousness of wanting to know her brother, empathize with him, fading as she settled into domesticity.

And with trips like this one.

She pushed them through the crowd. The Doctor with a finger hooked through her belt loop to keep up with her.  She’d tried to hold his hand, but he was cross with her and refused.   He hated having to leave the Tardis in Brooklyn, but it was the closest she could get them and a hell of a lot closer than the Caracas he’d managed.

He’d been right though, 1974 Bed-Stuy, the Tardis was going to be vandalized when they got back.

He’d also hated how she’d arranged travel into Manhattan.  A cab driver, a lot of flirting, and her special lip stick.

“Do you always have to flirt,” he’d huffed as the pillars of the Brooklyn Bridge passed over them.

She’d pretended to be surprised. He knew it didn’t mean anything, not even a little, but she liked that he was still bothered by it. Liked that he still got so jealous.

“Hippies,” she heard behind her and glanced over her shoulder, her husband was frowning at a group they were passing, a particularly potent marijuana cloud above them.

“I’m sure someone will share,” she said, winking at him, “puff, puff, pass”. He glared, frowning at her with fake disgust.  She just blew him a kiss, noting his grip on her belt loop tightened despite his face.

She smiled holding out her elbow to clear through a tightly grouped crowd.

“Excuse us,” he snapped, putting his palm on the chest of a particularly drunk kid reaching towards River. The Doctor shoved him away growling about indecency.  She laughed.

When they finally reached the gate she held her hand out behind her.  The leather case was slipped into her palm and she held it up to the security guard. He studied it for a long moment, before recognition dawned on his face.

“Mr. Page is waiting for you.”

River smiled, “Thank you!”  She gave her best flirty grin before turning back to her husband.  He rolled his eyes, releasing her belt loop to cross his arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered, reaching around him to slip the psychic paper into his back pocket. She kissed his chin before heading towards the stage, well aware he was on her heels, following as she moved through the roadies and the musicians lingering.

“Last check,” somebody shouted off to one side. River smiled, sliding into position just off the edge of the stage. Watching as adjustments were made to microphones and wires.

“Perfect seats,” she said quietly, and he huffed next to her.  

She turned to face him.  His eyes softened as she looked at him, his shoulders relaxing as she put her hands on his hips, rubbing her thumbs along the cool cotton of his shirt.  When he finally eased into her touch, she pressed her lips against his.   

“That’s better,” she mumbled, pulling on his bottom lip slightly.  He let out a quiet growl in the back of his throat.   “Now, I’m going to go and acquire some t-shirts for us. Why don’t you,” she pointed a finger into his chest, “ogle that.” She moved her pointed finger to the collection of guitars on their stands just off stage. 

The Doctor glanced, and a second later let out a quiet gasp. Stepping away from his wife and moving towards the instruments. 

“The painted Telecaster,” he whispered, the hitch in his voice almost sexual as moved towards the guitar.  She watched as tentative fingers reached out, just brushing along the neck before shaking her head and walking away.  He’d be occupied for at least 20 minutes now.

Plenty of time.

She worked her way back out to the crowd, most people trying to maneuver to their seats.  She pushed through them, easily snatching two of the grey t-shirts at the first stand and tossing them over her arm before snatching a half-abandoned tote bag, patches from the 1969 show prominent, from a young woman too drunk and high to miss it. She tossed the small bag of weed she found inside into the trashcan and shoved the shirts inside.  She was just turning towards the fountain when his voice stopped her.

“Professor,” she turned only momentarily surprised that he could appear as dapper in well fitted jeans and dress shirt as he did in a Saville Row suit. Fitting right in while still completely standing out.

“Irving,” she smiled, closing the distance between them and giving him a kiss on each cheek. “How are you?

“Perfect, dearest and you?   Wasting your talent as always,” he sighed, peeking into the tote bag.  She ignored him.  

“Did you bring it?” She held out her hand and he just smirked at her, gesturing with his head back towards the concert. 

“Are you really enjoying your time with old Scotty for brains?” She pulled back from him and crossed her arms. She thought of her husband and his cross arms and forced herself not to smile. 

“I mean, seriously, River, at least the last two knew how to have fun.  This one relishes in telling me what is and what isn’t proper all the bloody time. Didn’t even let me steal an original Picasso last time we had dinner.   Like conversing with a conscious personified. And the eyebrows, reminds me of our father.” Irving shuddered before turning that ridiculously charming smile back on. 

“You could always,” he reached a hand out and she smacked it away.

“No,” she replied, returning his smile.  “I adore the eyebrows,” she replied. “And the mood swings and the complaining.  I wouldn’t change a single thing, not even to make him wear a bowtie.   And you are well aware of it.”

Braxiatel sighed again before reaching into his pocket.   He pulled out a tiny plastic storage container, black chip safely inside and handed it to her.

“So you really don’t miss bow tie?  He could always liven up a party.  The dancing alone.”

River slipped the data drive into her pocket.  

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Now, we tend to do our dancing in a more horizontal…”

“I. Do. Not. Want. To. Know.” Irving interrupted her, holding up a hand. She laughed, grabbing his bicep and squeezing.

“Thank you for this,” she said, seriously.

He shrugged, his eyes following a very attractive young woman as she jogged by.  “No problem at all. It won’t be missed, although I can’t imagine why you need to store on a Matrix slice, but then you’ve never felt inclined to include me in your planning.”

“Best if you don’t know,” she said, although she’d been tempted to recruit his help in other ways.  No matter what he said about The Doctor she knew that Irving was almost as angry as she was about his punishment.

She knew Irving would fight for his brother, but that the Doctor wouldn’t appreciate his less than ethical methods. Especially now.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “but you know I’m almost always willing to cause trouble.  And if they need a new Lord President after you take care of Rassilon, happily remind them I have a rather varied Curriculum Vitae”

She laughed again and leaned over to give him another kiss.

“Thank you again,” she said.

“Enjoy the show,” he replied and looked toward the stage. “And tell Theta I said Happy Birthday.”

As soon as she felt sure she was out of his sight she pulled the small chip out of her jeans and tucked it into the pocket of tote bag. She was easily able to swipe another two t-shirts as she headed back, slipping them into the bag on her shoulder.

“Sweetie,” she called, spotting him immediately, a guitar around his neck talking to the band.  Less than 10 minutes and he’d already made friends.

Typical.

“River,” a voice called, and Jimmy Page caught her off guard dragging her into a hug.  “It’s been ages,” he added pulling back and kissing her on the lips. She pushed lightly on his chest and he leaned back, keeping his arms wrapped around her wrist.

“Look, it’s River” he said to the rest of the band, still beaming at her.  She held up a hand and waved and was quickly greeted with 3 other hugs and offered warm hellos before moving towards her husband.

“Naturally,” he grunted, easing the guitar off obviously done having fun. The frown on his face was as deep as she’d seen, his mild annoyance at the cab driver shifting towards actual hurt and anger.

She couldn’t have that, not today. 

“I see you’ve met my fella,” she said, offering a smile before slipping her fingers between her husband’s. Page’s face collapsed for a second before her shook his head and turned back towards her husband.

“Sorry, mate,” he said awkwardly.   The Doctor just glared.

“It’s time,” someone said and with a quick glance at her, they all moved towards the stage.

“Stupid hair,” she heard her husband mutter. “Is there anyone…” he trailed off, thinking better of the question. She frowned, and pressed herself against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt the tension in him and pressed her lips against his jaw.

He sighed, relaxing slightly as he pressed his cheek into her hair.  They focused their attention on the stage as the first aching notes filled the air.

The crowd went wild.

* * *

 

River placed an open mouth kiss to the soft skin of his inner thigh and his body shivered beneath her, she moved a fraction and nipped at his drained sack.

“River,” he cried, turning his over sensitized groin away from her touch. She smirked, and started moving up his body, placing gentler kisses along they way, tracing her tongue along his ribs and suckling at a nipple as she passed.  His eyes followed her every move, half nervous half exhausted.  His arms pulled gently at the silk scarf she’d used to secure him to the headboard, no longer as desperate to break free as he’d been a few minutes ago. She reached up, the bindings falling away with ease.  He reached for her immediately, she caught one hand and kissed the skin inside his wrist.  A tender gesture, he allowed only for a moment before pulling on her curls and bringing their lips together.

She kissed him hard, battling his tongue for control as he growled into her mouth.  This was about him.  Solely about him and she intended to keep it that way. When his other hand closed around her hip and she knew he was going to push her back, she pulled away and grinned down at him.  He looked debauched again, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, but even his Time Lord stamina wasn’t that fast.

“Happy Birthday, love,” she whispered, and he chuckled, collapsing back into the pillow.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes drooping closed as his chest heaved.  “Pretty fair gift,” he teased.  There was genuine happiness on his face for a second before his eyebrows turned naughty.  She felt the familiar warmth creeping through her as his eyes opened and he hit her with his sultry look.  “Why don’t you climb up here and I can return the favor.” He licked his lips and she felt her body respond. It sounded heavenly, he could do wicked, wicked things with that tongue. 

But not today.

She shook her head and he frowned.

She leaned down to suckle gently on his bottom lip, using her teeth until he groaned and tried to pull her closer.

“Minx,” he grumbled as she settled her head on his shoulder.

“Hardly,” she replied.  “I’m being selfish.  I want your full participation.  You’re exhausted and need to…”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted.

 She pushed herself up to look at his face. He’d try if she let him, but she could sleep pulling at this man who rarely slept.  He needed it, she’d made sure of that. She had a plan.

She dragged her calf between his thighs and he shuddered.   She repeated it and he grabbed her thigh, stilling her and proving her point. She saw a hint of annoyance as she leaned down and kissed his cheek.  “Sleep, honey,” she said.  “Then it’s my turn.”

He grumbled under his breath but relaxed back into the pillows. 

When his fingers went lax on her thigh several minutes later she knew she had to be quick.

* * *

 

As soon as she’d found the neural relay in the screwdriver she had an idea of what was coming. Not the details, obviously, but an understanding of what her husband intended to do. She’d been horrified at first.  So hurt she thought of leaving.  She didn’t matter. He did. That was part of this, though.  Their last night. Trusting that he meant what he said.  Trusting that she was important to him.

She’d broken time to save him. Risked everything in the universe to keep him alive. If he loved her half as much as she loved him then keeping her alive was what mattered.  

And when she’d accepted that, things had started to make sense.

“You better let me know if he wakes up,” River said to the control panel as she moved past, grabbing the tote bag from the jump seat she’d left it on.  She moved quickly down the stairs and into the under belly of the Tardis.  She needed her husband’s tools.  She sat the sonic screwdriver on the workbench along with the chip from Braxiatel and started to work.

* * *

 

The Doctor rolled over, his hand reaching out instinctively. He expected to wrap his arm around his naked wife curled beside him. Not for his hand to land on soft cotton so far away.   He lifted his head and looked over at her. His hand on resting on the grey t-shirt covering her upper thigh. One of the t-shirts she’d stolen from the concert earlier.

“You dressed,” he said, her eyes taking a moment to finish reading before she marked her page with her finger and smiled over at him.

“A t-shirt and knickers is hardly dressed,” she said, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair.  “Did you sleep well?”

He continued to frown, his hand still touching the shirt as his mind drifted to the concert.  To his meeting yet another of his wife’s former lovers.

He tried to stifle the bitterness.  She’d certainly lathered him in attention all day. He could feel the ache in his muscles from her wonderful torture. He knew better, her really did.  It was just that--

“Sweetie,” she said softly, drawing his attention back to her. She let her fingers move down his face, gently cupping his chin.  She brushed her thumb across his lips and he puckered against it instinctively. “Just you,” she said her smile making his chest ache with affection.  “My madman in a box.”

He nodded, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his lips. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. She Can Get What She Came For

River had a map in her head learned through books and half remembered from her one trip here. It had all been too easy to put together, the teachings of Kovarian clearer than they’d been in years.  The training as easy to recall as breathing. She should be terrified, she knew.

But she wasn’t. 

 She hid in an empty hall as a surge of soldiers ran past her.  The mix of voices were talking about the wraiths and orders and something about the change in power or Rassilon, the dialects of the low born.  She frowned, peaking around the corner and watching as another group moved past. When it was quiet for several minutes she pulled her guns out and checked the settings, one on each hip charged and ready.  One for Rassilon, ready to kill, and one for others to stun, maybe force regeneration if it was close anyway.

River thought she’d be willing to kill them all.

She wasn’t.

* * *

 “They’re bringing the Doctor?” she asked, slipping the on the new collar.

“Yes,” Irving answered, looking into the mirror adjusting his robes.  He smiled at himself, before turning to face his long time friend. “He was hesitant, it seems, because he has Koschei locked up in a basement on Earth.”

She raised an eyebrow, her brown eyes as cunning as ever, but the warmth that had been there when they’d first met, when she’d been so young, was hardened .  The years, and the war especially, had taken their toll.   “I told everyone who would listen that digging him out of the matrix was a horrible idea.”

Irving just shrugged. She glared at him.  “He always keeps things lively,” She shook her head and looked back towards the mirror. “I’ve had to send my assurance that we aren’t intending to steal her, now for what it’s worth, away to face judgement here.”

She nodded, frowning as he adjusted the collar on her shoulders. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be making all of the decisions.”

Irving nodded, conceding the point.

“But I’m hardly yearning for more time with The Master,” she huffed and Irving chuckled

“I suspected as much.”  There was loud knock and the door pushed open.

“Lord,” the young soldier started, cheeks getting red at his error. “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “Lady President,” he began again, “The Doctor has arrived, we’re escorting him to the Panopticon as you wanted.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“And my sister-in-law?” Irving asked. 

“Heading down to the Cloisters, sir, as you said she would.  We’ve stationed the guards at just one lift.” He swallowed, a flash of terror on his face.  “The wraiths, sir, they…”

Irving grinned, an unfamiliar sense of pride swelling in his chest.  “She controls them soldier,” he held his hands up towards the ceiling, “controls all of us actually.  It’s rather impressive, really.” 

Romana shook her head. “If she’d stop the damn bells, I’d be more impressed.” She smirked at him.   “Although I am rather interested to meet Professor Song.  To win the Doctor over so completely, she must be quite a complex woman.”

“You’re going to love her,” Irving said.  “Assuming she doesn’t kill us all of course.”

The soldier still looked terrified and Irving simply laughed.


	12. Time to Change the Road Your On

The  Arcade on Selantic IX was exactly as she expected.  A country sized building with 12 floors with every variation of fun imaginable. The cacophony of bells and buzzers screaming with every win or loss was accompanied by lights of every color strobing around her. She would have found it annoying if she wasn’t drunk.

“Another go?” the man behind the coconut game asked her and she nodded. He took her money in exchange for her three coconuts and she once again failed miserably at getting the pins down.

“Sweetie,” she hollered in the direction of the bar, knowing full well he couldn’t hear her.  “Come win this damned flamingo.” 

“Gladly,” she heard over her shoulder and snapped her head around, having to close her eyes to still the room before she could focus. When she did a grin spread over her face.

_Explains the sudden need for the loo,_ she thought, eyeing the much younger version of her husband that had suddenly appeared in front of her.

“What are you doing here, Doctor Song?” he hummed, grabbing his lapels and sashaying around to eye her up and down. “Escape from Storm Cage for the night?”

She huffed, smirking as he finally met her eyes.  “Hardly, dear, been out for years.” He frowned, reaching into his pocket for the notebook this version still kept tucked away.  She didn’t have her diary, it was on the table next to their bed on Darillium.  It’s permanent home these days.

“I’m ahead of you, honey,” she flirted, half stumbling away from the game and into the midway. He moved right behind her, his frown growing as she closed her fingers around his wrist.

She gestured in the direction her Scotsman had gone. “You’ve done a runner love, knew exactly when to go get drinks.” He raised an almost non-existent eyebrow before allowing himself to make a quick scan of the crowd. He was looking for an older version of himself though, not the handsome grey-haired man leaning against a ghost tour attraction watching with his cross arms and grumpy face on full display.

The sight of him almost made her swoon, either that or the tequila, but probably him.

“Spoilers,” she said, refocusing on the bowtie in front of her and reaching up to touch his chin and turn his attention back to her. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Your parents,” he said, grin splitting his face. “Wanted to go in the Endless Tunnel of Love and you know I can’t say no to my Ponds.”  He moved closer, hand settling on her hip with the reluctant embarrassment of his youth.  She’d have found it endearing if the thought of her parents so close hadn’t ached through her chest.  He didn’t notice, he never did this young. “Care to join them, Littlest Pond.  Those swans are…”

She forced herself to chuckle, pressing her body against his chest and cutting off his words.  “And just abandon the you who brought me.  That’s not very nice.”

He let his hand slip lower, index finger brushing the lower curve of her ass. The gesture almost made her laugh, so bold for this version.  She could almost feel the contempt from across the midway, her older husband who never hesitated to touch, embarrassed by the shyness.  Shyness she used to find so sweet.  She always loved to fluster him, especially when she’d been drinking.

But she was shocked to find she didn’t have it in her anymore, at least not tonight, despite the fact that his too big grin was making her stomach flutter.

“I promise to forgive you” he leaned closer, placing her lips close to her ear.  “There’s a place on the third floor that has 200 different flavors of candy floss.”

She laughed at that, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

“Rain check, Sweetie?” She turned and pressed her lips against his.  He let out a thoroughly Bowtie noise, half moan/half gasp of surprise, and it was almost 5 full seconds before he started kissing her back. His lanky body melted around her, his long arms like a cocoon. She’d forgotten this, it was like being young again, just a little too much of everything. Too hard, too sloppy.  Her head was dizzy with it and the booze.  She pressed as close to him as she could, kissing him with everything and managing to pull back before she was completely lost.

She didn’t have to sneak a peak towards the ghost train to see the annoyance. She could see the eyebrows pinching together in her mind. Feel the jealousy.

“But River…” he started, pouting.  She kissed his chin.

“I promise,” she said, straightening the silk bowtie around his neck.  “That when you get back with my drink,” he crinkled his nose, “I will make it up to you.”

He took a deep breath and she knew something ridiculous was going to come out of his mouth so she quickly covered his lips with her finger, shaking her head. “In bed,” she added and watched the pink creep up his cheeks and across his nose.

“River,” he groaned and she kissed him again, head starting to feel like it was swimming.

“I promise,” she smiled, pulling out of his grip and putting space between them.  “That gives you something to look forward to,” she winked, “eventually.”

“Fine,” he kicked half-heartedly at the ground.  “Say Hi to me and I’ll make excuses to your parents.”  He huffed and stared down at his shoes. “I feel like all we do is say good-bye these days,”

It was the wrong thing to say.

It was like a vice gripped her heart and she suddenly desperately wanted to know where he was in his timeline. There were so many good-byes still to come for him, not the least of which was his precious Amy. Then his sweet Clara, gone and forgotten but still an open and aching wound. 

And 4 billion years.  Pain and torture at the hands of the people he’d tried to save.

Then his 24-year-good-bye to her.  The one that she knew was becoming more and more painful with each wonderful moment they spent together.

So much pain still in front of him. And standing in front of her he was oblivious to all of it.

She felt the anger start to bubble beneath the surface, her fist gripping at the tweed of his jacket.

How much did he know?

Had he already finished the work on the neural link.  Was her screwdriver sitting in a drawer on his Tardis now waiting for Darillium or some unknown occasion to give it to her?

It was too much.  She felt her eyes start to sting with contained rage.  And if she cried even Captain Clueless here would know something was wrong.

“Sweetie,” she started, wanting to hug him.  Hug him so hard the gloomy grey-haired version watching them would feel it, that it would last him through all of the pain until this moment and then she’d hug him again to get him through the rest. 

And then she’d kill everyone who harmed him.

“Have fun,” he mumbled, kissing her cheek. Offering her that stupid grin that she loved so much, before nodding and disappearing into the crowd.

She took a stabilizing breath and looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes, the fury so bad for a moment that she thought she might not be able to contain it.  Was this the last time she’d see that version? Was this another of his good-byes?

There was another arm around her and she was pressed against the same, yet very different chest.

“All right?” he whispered in her ear as she buried her face in his neck, nails digging into her palms. She shook her head, taking a deep breath and his grip tightened, lips pressed against her cheek again. So tender, so different than the gesture from just moments before.

He held her for a long moment before she leaned back to meet his eyes.  They were dark with concern and as always managed to calm her almost instantly.

“Apparently,” she said, swallowing hard before smiling.   “There are over 200 flavors of candy floss on the third floor.” She traced her finger along the velvet of his coat. He studied her and she’d lie about her motivations if he asked, but she hoped like hell he wouldn’t. Hoped he’d trust her.

After a long few seconds he smiled back. He pulled her closer, his hand slipping down to rest on her ass. Staking the claim his previous body had been too shy to.

“If I remember correctly you just promised to do unseemly things to me.”

“I did,” she chuckled kissing his jaw.  “But you were supposed to come with a drink.”  He frowned.   She smirked. ‘Why don’t I go get them while you win this flamingo for me.”

* * *

 

“Sweetie,” she growled, leaning back against his chest as he reached around her to open the door.   “That was so much fun.” She hiccupped and he smiled as he pushed the door open.

“Oh god,” she said, turning suddenly and bumping into him, the giant flamingo trapped between them.   “I forgot my shoes,” she whispered, looking up at him horror struck and unable to focus. His smile grew as he held up his left hand clutching the dark red heels.

“Oh, honey,” she said, wrapping her arm around his neck and kissing his chin. “You’re the best.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled, pushing gently against her to ease her into the house. 

“You’re the very best,” she said again. 

She tossed her clutch haphazardly onto their sofa and swung the flamingo around by its neck, suddenly swaying to some song only she could hear. He pulled his jacket it off and draped it over a chair keeping his eyes on her. He’d spent most of the night struggling to remember his half of the conversation from so long ago. It hadn’t seemed particularly important at the time.  She’d riled him up enough, she always did, that he’d left the Ponds-in-law on their ride and surprised another version of his wife at Stormcage.

_That_ he remembered very clearly, those bloody handcuffs she’d been hiding.

But she’d been off since seeing Bowtie, an underlying anger, he thought, that he couldn’t put his finger on and that made him both sad and jealous.  He knew she loved his younger version, but this was the first time he’d ever felt like she might love him more. And it stung.

But he wouldn’t push the issue now. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he finally said, moving towards her. She stopped her dance and beamed at him, eyes shining with exhaustion and alcohol.

“Yes,” she hissed as he guided her down the short hallway.  “Can you do that thing…”

“To sleep,” he interrupted and she frowned as he directed her toward the bathroom. He eased the flamingo from her grip and tossed it towards the bed.

“That’s no fun,” she pouted settling her hands on the counter, he was able to grab her hips just as she jumped to make sure she made it. She leaned her head back against the mirror as he mumbled a curse, but she didn’t notice. “I promised I’d make it up to you.” She reached for his loopy tie and started to undo it.

“Tomorrow,” he said, grabbing one of the towelettes she used to take off her makeup. “Close your eyes.” She did, and her coordination with his tie was all but lost.  He didn’t mind, instead focusing on moving the cloth gently along her face.

“You get cross when I don’t keep my promises and this time I want to,” she whined, dropping her hands to his sides and pulling him until he moved between her legs.

“You can’t,” he said, regretting the words immediately as the green eye he wasn’t rubbing the mascara off of shot open.   Even drunk, or especially drunk, you didn’t tell River that she couldn’t do something.  “Tonight,” he added, smiling again and moving the cloth towards the glaring eye. “Tomorrow we can do whatever your heart desires.”

She chuckled after a second and looked up as he tossed the wipe away.

“I want to do you,” she said, tightening her legs around him.  He wrapped his arms around her back and leaned into her kiss.  She tasted like the fruity drinks she’d consumed all night and the salted caramel candy floss she’d insisted on.  It was odd and sweet, and her uncoordinated manner did nothing to stop the warm swell low in his belly. He gave into it for several wonderful moments before he pulled back. She frowned at him again.

“See you’re cross,” she started to work on his tie again. “If you’d just let me…”

“I’m not cross it’s the eyebrows.” She sneaked a peek away from his tie and tried to hide a grin.

“Don’t you want me?” she asked, trying to manage the fake pout, that when she was sober would make him conquer the world.  The drunk version was a little more humorous than heart wrenching.

“Always,” he smiled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

“And forever,” she held up his now free tie. He grabbed his end and rolled it around his hand.

She smiled watching him, but when their fingers met he didn’t miss the moment of pain that crossed her face. It wrenched through his chest and sent a swell of hatred up his throat.

He swallowed past it, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“You are cross,” she said, her voice making him snap his eyes open.  “It’s not just the eyebrows.” The playfulness gone as she forced her mind to try and focus. “It’s your lips too. When your lips are cross, you’re cross.”

“I’m not,” he lied, it would never have worked if she was sober.  “Let’s get you out of this dress.” He started to free his hand from the tie, but she pulled, stopping his movements.

Apparently, it wasn’t going to work now either.  She knew him too well.

“Sweetie?” she slurred, and he could see how hard she was trying to keep it together.

“You miss him,” he whispered, looking down and pinching the smooth material of her dress between his index finger and thumb. He suddenly felt childish and ridiculous and more like that bowtied version than he ever had.  He was the one she’d married after all.  The one she’d broken time for. Of course she missed him.

The silence that surrounded him lasted too long and he slowly worked up the courage to look up at her.  He expected anger or even hurt at having to be honest with him, but not confusion.

“River?”

She looked away, focusing on the wall for a second, and held up a free finger as their tie joined hands fell into her lap.  She looked back at him, her face almost hesitant.  

“Who?” she finally asked.

He huffed shaking his head and eased his hand from the tie.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said, managing to put a smile on his face.  “Let’s get you out of this dress.”

“Doctor,” she tried to grab his chin but missed, her nails grazing his cheek. He caught her fingers and kiss them. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, meeting her unfocused eyes.  He tried to make himself believe it. She loved him, he knew that. She showed him everyday.  So what if she loved the previous version better, he was younger, more fun.  Of course he was more popular.  Bowtie wasn’t here now and wouldn’t be.  This was his time. These were his years.

“Fine,” she said unhappily, “but you won’t sleep with me. You won’t talk to me.” She pouted, managing to make it more believable as she reached for the first button on his shirt.  “Can I at least have this?” she said, starting to slowly undo them.

“My shirt?” he asked, and she nodded, her head looking too heavy.

“What’s a sexless girl to do but sleep in her fella’s clothes.” 

He chuckled at that, pulling the material out of his trousers. He eased hit off his shoulders and handed it to her. Her face lit up with absolute joy and she buried her nose in it, taking a deep breath. He reached around her neck and made quick work of her necklace. He draped it over the door knob and reached for the zipper.

“Now can we get you into bed?” he asked and was answered with another bobbly nod.

* * *

 

Thankfully the people of Darillium were used to the giant red-bodied Cyborg.  River smiled realizing that no one was looking in their direction even with the fact that he took almost the entire front window of the cafe.  Outside of the slightly uncomfortable look on the waitress’ face as she set the dainty tea set down on the table between them, there was nothing unusual about the meeting at all.

“How have you been, Nardole?” she asked, taking a long sip of her tea and hoping it helped ease the lingering headache.  Breakfast in bed with her husband and his lingering jealousy hadn’t been as helpful as she hoped.

_You miss him._ She almost groaned as she remembered his statement.  Idiot.

She refocused on her lunch companion and hesmiled, making easy work of the cup and saucer. 

“Good really,” he answered.  “Personal life’s taken a bit of a dive since sharing a body with the super model, but I do alright.”

Ramone. She hadn’t even thought of Ramone since, she couldn’t remember.  She felt a pang of guilt over her treatment of him all those years ago.  He’d been attentive, affectionate and had genuinely cared about her.   It’s why she’d married him, but his lack of intelligence had worn thin.  

And it had never meant anything to her.  Ramone, sexy handsome thing that he was, certainly couldn’t compare to her old, worn thin, Scottish sweetie.

No one could.

“You?” Nardole asked and she couldn’t help grinning, her mind already on her husband.  Stupidly happy, she thought. Happiest I’ve ever been, happier than I ever knew anyone could be.

_And panicked because it’s going too fast.  Afraid her plan wouldn’t work. Positively terrified for her husband after the fact. His wellbeing was the only thing that mattered. Aware almost every day that she still hadn’t done his first.  The moment she’d always feared the most, the one that would break her heart.  Looking at her husband and him having no idea who she was._

“Also good,” she replied, sipping again. “Enjoying spending time with the Doctor.”

“You’re husband, despite all previous denials.” Nardole smirked at her, and she nodded. 

“My husband,” she said quietly.  “He’s actually the reason I needed to see you.” That made Nardole frown.   She reached for her bag on the floor and grabbed her diary. She sat it on the table between them.

“The infamous diary,” he raised an eyebrow at her, cocking his head as much as the red body would allow.

“My diary,” she replied, fingers pressing against the well-worn cover. “Soon, I’m going to need a favor,” she started, not entirely sure of what she wanted from him.

_I’m going to need you to help him.  Be his friend. His companion.  Kick his ass when he needs it. And he needs it a lot.  Don’t let him be alone too long.  Don’t let him let him hold on too tight to my memory. Don’t let him forget me either.   Never, ever, let him hurt anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary. Make him live his life, all of it, every last regeneration he can muster._

She pressed her fingers into her sacred book and took a deep breathe, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She looked up and met Nardole’s kind yet curious eyes and smiled. 

“How would you feel about him reassembling you?”


	13. Those Who Stand Looking

The Doctor stood with his arms crossed examining the statue of some long dead hero of Gallifrey.  He knew at one point he’d learned all the names, but it was now long gone. He couldn’t care.

“Bloody Bells,” he hissed at the ceiling, trying to place the tune. The young soldier who’d brought him here simply said there was a malfunction with the wraiths and that it was being worked on.

Rassilon probably thought the Doctor was doing it, that would explain the summons. 

The Doctor glanced at his watch the time he’d mentally agreed to wait having almost run out.  He’d already plotted the best route to get to a Tardis bay. He no longer even felt guilty; they should know better.

“Theta!”  The Doctor turned to see his brother, immediately noting the full formal robes and collar.   He frowned, glaring at the wide-open arms as he approached, as if they were suddenly going to take up hugging.

They weren’t.

The Doctor turned fully crossing his arms and standing at his full height, not even beginning to compare to his brother’s stature. 

“Brax,” he said, looking him up and down. “You said it was important, but I didn’t know you’d fallen in line with Rassilon.”

There was a sinister smirk that reminded the Doctor of being young, of Brax having all the information and teasing his younger brother endless.  It sent an unwelcome shiver up his spine and he took a step back, ready to leave.

“Come, Doctor,” said a quiet voice moving from behind Brax and positioning herself next to him.   “You must keep up with current events.”

“Fred?” he asked, the smile at the long ago nickname that showed him a flash of his old friend.

She moved towards him, filling his space completely. “It’s good to see you, old friend, and I hope we can find time to catch up. But we have a very serious problem that only you can solve.”

He stared at her for a long moment, amazed again how someone so small could just ooze so much power. And shocked out how much older and how much harder she seemed.

“What?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual.

Romana looked over her shoulder towards Irving and the Doctor met his brother’s piercing blue eyes.

“River,” Braxiatel said.

And as if on cue everything went silent.

* * *

 

River pushed through the dark passageways, finding the back stairway where she expected.  Two flights up then across and she’d be in sector with the Presidential quarters and meeting rooms. 

She wondered what they’d be doing now that she’d silenced the bells. Would they be more panicked? Finally at ease?

It didn’t really matter.

She pulled out her gun as she pushed through the last security door, holding it in front of her. She expected guards. It was empty.

She frowned as she moved down the hall, back pressed against the ornate wall.

There should be guards.

She continued, ears still ringing from the bells, trying desperately to hear any other sound. Any indication of voices or movement.

Nothing.

Just silence.

For the first time since the library she was hesitant. 

She reached the conference room and pressed on the door, gun in front of her noticing empty computers a collection of tablets and equipment spread across the table.

Completely empty, except for the chair at the end.

His hands were joined together on the table in front of him, head drooping.  Grey hood peaking out of a black coat.  Hair too long, but she liked it, she thought before the ache settled in her chest and she felt her eyes start to burn.

He looked up, eyes full of a pain and a fury she’d never seen there, even at his worst and her arm dropped, gun at her side.

“Come wife,” his voice was so sharp it hurt, “Certainly you planned for this?”


	14. All that Glitters is Gold

River found her husband on their back patio. The collection of fairy lights, spread like a canopy through their bushes and trees, gave him an almost angelic glow. He was leaning back on the small sofa, feet propped up on the table, the book he wasn’t reading open across his lap. He was beautiful and as she stood in the doorway staring at his profile she felt the swell in her chest reminding her just how much she loved him.

So much her breath caught and it ached through her.

So much it hurt.

And she was so angry with him she could scream.  Or punch him.  Maybe both.

Instead she sighed, pushing off the doorframe and headed towards him. She slipped the whiskey glass from between his loose grip as she moved around the table to settle next to him. She took a long sip and smiled.

“Must be really bad,” she said as he turned towards her, “you’re drinking the good stuff.”

A cruel smirk crossed his face before he turned his attention back to their dark garden.

“How was your lunch?”

“It was just tea,” she answered, taking another sip. “And it was nice, good to see Nardole.”

He just nodded, not really listening.  She watched him for several minutes, before downing the whiskey and setting the glass on the table. 

“It was a ridiculous thing to say,” she hissed, finally drawing his attention fully back to her.  His eyes were so dark and his silence just fueled her anger. “I miss him?” she snapped. “I live with him.  See him every day. I’m sitting next…”

“I’m not him,” he growled looking away again, and she wondered for a split section if he was offended or if it was jealousy that motivated him.

“Of course you are. You have his memories, his beliefs, his—”

He jumped up in a rage and turned on her.  “If I’m him, then why in the hell were you so mad at me after he left.”

“I wasn’t mad at—” she tried to interrupt, but he kept going.

“Ran back to your arms, I might add.  He left your parents on that infernal ride and ran off to Stormcage.  Spent the evening handcuffed to your cot while you road him into obli--”

“YOU!” she screamed, making him stop.

“You did that. Those are your memories, our memories. You don’t get to deny them.”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” She stood up and pushed into his space. “You’re acting as if they belong to somebody else.  Some other man that I was rolling around in the sheets with before I met you, when it was you!” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him, feeling an ache in her throat that she tried to swallow down. She’d be damned before she started to cry. “Idiot!”

“I’m different,” he said, closing his cool fingers around one of her wrists. She tried to pull back, but he tightened his grip.

“Of course, you’re bloody different,” she snapped back, pushing against his chest again with her free hand. “So am I.  I’m hardly that half-crazed assassin who stopped—”

He let her go and moved away, towards their lawn. 

“That’s not the same,” he hissed.

“Christ,” she replied, holding her hands up as he turned around to look at her. “You looked like a 12-year-old, you flapped your arms around when you talked or when I kissed you. You’d blushed and were embarrassed by sex or any time I touched you in sight of other people, or in private. It was wonderful and infuriating.  Now you touch without doubt and let me do the same. You take what you want and what you enjoy and you aren’t ashamed of it.” She moved towards him, feeling herself almost pleading with him.  Their time was ticking away, second by second. He had to get past this.  “You’re old. You’re grey. You’re cross and your eyebrows have a mind of their own.  And you make me feel wanted every single day.” She took a shaking breath and shook her head. 

“You’ve made a home with me, my eternal traveler settled into one place with ease.” She put her hand on his chest again, curling her fingers into his shirt.  “I killed Nazis with you. Stood on a pyramid with you. Crashed a space ship with you. Listened to the Towers sing with you.  Saw Led Zeppelin in Central Park with you. Went to Gallifrey,” her voice caught and she stared at her fingers, dark against the white material.  She thought of her screwdriver sitting in its drawer on the Tardis. “And I hope like hell I’ll die with you.” 

“River,” he said, his own voice shaking.  He covered her hand and she looked up to see a look of true anguish on his face. It broke her heart.  More pain to come for him.

“I know,” she said, moving closer still, pinning her arm between them. It was a road they couldn’t go down. A conversation they couldn’t have. “But you’re not allowed to deny me the rest, Doctor, they’re my memories with my husband. You don’t get to decide which ones I value more. And if you think for even a second that this body is loved even a sliver less than the last one,” she frowned, “you aren’t paying attention.”

“River—” She shook her head, stopping him.

“And I wasn’t mad at you,” she pushed against him, again, but with no anger.  “I was drunk and wanted the flamingo and was mad at life and the universe and the fact that you were going to lose your Ponds and Clara and suffer the wrath of Rassilon and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Okay?”

“River—”

“Okay?” she interrupted, again, pulling on his shirt.  He sighed and looked away.

“Okay,” he whispered, “but,” he paused as the wind rustled and the distant hum of the Towers filled the air.  He turned back to her.  “Don’t ever be angry for me, or fight for me, or…” His voice was earnest, hiding pain, she thought. It quieted her instinct to argue again.  He was her husband of course she’d fight for him.

She’d die for him.

“You were taken from your parents and…just don’t.  I’ve been the cause of too much pain for you. I don’t want—”

“I wouldn’t change a second,” she interrupted.

He smiled, his stupid crooked half smile that she loved and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. 

“I know that,” he whispered, “but I don’t deserve it.” He pulled back and the look on his face, something she couldn’t quite decipher, made her nod her head.  She gave another passing thought to her plan, and her screwdriver and knew without a doubt he was worth every sacrifice, even if he didn’t.

Instead of arguing, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close.

“Are we back on the same page?” she asked.

He nodded, letting his hands trail down her hips.  “I’m a jealous idiot,” he said.

“Right,” she smiled, kissing his jaw. “And you’re going to at least work on the jealous bit. And I’m angry and shoot first. I’ll work on the angry bit.”

He laughed at that, burying his face in her neck.

“Deal,” he mumbled, kissing the spot above her shoulder. She tightened her arms around him as he moved up, whispering in her ear. “Can we make up properly now?” His hands settled on her ass, a copy of his actions the previous night, and she laughed.

“I thought we’d never get there,” she said, pulling back and weaving her fingers through his and pulling him toward the door.

* * *

 

“Yes,” she moaned at the ceiling as he pushed inside her.  She felt full and perfect as he slid out and eased back in, a wave of warmth as her body responded, welcoming and encouraging him.

“Like that,” she whispered as he found their rhythm, lifting his head to meet her eyes, arms moving to cradle her shoulders.  “Perfect,” she hummed as his hips moved him inside her. 

“Yes, you are,” he said, placing his forehead against hers. She wove her fingers through his hair and smiled as she felt the gentle prodding of his mind.  This was another way her husband had changed, he shared more now, never doubting that he could keep the spoilers locked away while still sharing.

Her body tightened as he filled her with his pleasure, feeling his movements with her body and his. She groaned as he moved just a fraction and hit the perfect spot, using her own sensations against her.  There was nothing better than this, nothing more satisfying.

But with a rush there was darkness.

“Sweetie,” she gasped as he filled her with a rush of images.  Of Bowtie, and of him watching her with Bowtie.  Watching her kiss him and he her. And the anger and pain.  The jealousy.  She tried to pull back, aware of her body holding him tightly while her mind tried to escape. “Doctor,” she tried to say, gasping with a flash of hurt as an image of her with Ramone appeared, her unknown husband watching from the snow.

She started to work her tongue around the syllables of his name, his real name, when suddenly everything went calm. They were on the pyramid their hands wrapped up in a tie.

“My River,” he said, teeth sinking gently into her shoulder as he started to slam into her. 

And she gasped at the ceiling, the pyramid fading as he pushed their pleasure back into her mind and she felt him let go.

The jealousy, the doubt, the uncertainty.

He believed her.

Warmth and love filled him, his mind relaxing even as his body continued to tense, his hand pushing between them.  She cried out as he brushed his thumb over her clit, body tightening as he broke the connection, lifting his head just as tears filled her eyes.

“I love you,” he chanted in eloquent Gallifreyan, as she started to shake, overcome. 

She keened as her body seized, the orgasm blinding her with it’s power. Everything but him fading away as he collapsed on top of her.  Their bodies sticky with sweat as their gasping breaths filled the quiet.


End file.
